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6:48 p.m. - August 12, 2004
Habari gani, journal
Bathsheba is getting married January 8, 2005. Something original, wonderful, Bathsheba-enough to never be hidden in a dark closet: The perfect gift.

First thought: No surprise. Second thought: She is my closest friend, first before A[deleted]a, and marriage means change, some distance. I am not fond of change at all, but my happiness for hers outweighs those little things.

I'm regressing into patterns: The parking spot that had become mine at the university was taken this morning, and I was dismayed, quickly found myself making the same deals I've made before: If I arrive early enough tomorrow morning to snag my spot, I can have lunch and dinner. If not, nothing until the spot is free and occupied by my vehicle. In the meantime, an acceptable spot is a prime number away.

Brad would suggest there's more stress going on than I acknowledge or realize. He would be right, as most therapists are.

I miss chatting with Chris. More organic conclusions are preferred, nice and neat valued over anger. I think we each have too much carry-over to make friendship possible but that seems to me the easy way out.

Class is going well; students are doing well and I enjoy them all, save the one from Texas. She's too . . . Texas, loud and brash with a strong accent. I wonder if she exaggerates the y'alls.


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